No One (Revised)
by BlackApology
Summary: She was born with a power, taken from her own time, and thrust in a world where people out of time seem to be a common thing. Join Steve, Bucky, and their new companion as they brave dangers both in this new time and in their memories, while learning to trust themselves and each other.
1. My Perfectly Normal Morning

Surprise! That's for anyone who hasn't read the announcement in Breaking the Ice about my decision to rewrite No One.

I'm really excited that I finally got around to rewriting this. I first started writing fanfiction with this story nearly five years ago now and not only has my writing style changed a lot, but I've learned a bit about writing in that time as well. It had gotten to the point I couldn't even read this anymore and I'm glad to get it back up to reading material. I hope you guys enjoy this new version as much as I do.

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OCs and any added plotline. The rest belongs to Marvel. **

[o]

Chapter 1

(Someone Ruins)

My Perfectly Normal Morning

If life has taught me anything, it's how to survive. How to survive hunger, pain, how to survive people and yourself. That's all life is, really. Learning to survive. These lessons were introduced to me early on, a child without enough to eat. And they continued as life grew harder and less manageable. That was natural learning, things everyone has to go through at some point. The rest of the lessons were forced on me by _them. _Lessons no one should have to learn. Things that stick with you for life and haunt you during both night and day. And through it all we can only continue to survive.

...

Names carry meaning. They are the identity attached to a person, something that could never be taken away when everything else is gone. Or, that's what I used to think. Once upon a time, I had a name. Looking back on it now all I can remember is a light feeling in my gut, a tinkle of bells in my ears, but that's it. There's nothing tangible in those half-forgotten memories, so for a while I was simply Asset. It's what I became when I forgot my name. What _they_ called me, and aside from the memories that's all I had. But here on the streets I left behind that title and found myself a new one. Titles carry descriptions, unlike names, and maybe hold a little identity in their given purpose. I was trying to find an identity and a purpose, so I gave myself a title. I needed a description to replace Asset, so I become No One.

Ever since escaping I've been on my own, but really, I've always been on my own. When I was with _them _I was always alone, even when others were around me. Thinking back on scattered memories, I think the other me, the first me, was alone as well. Vague images of a sad overworked woman and a cheerful little boy filled me with an emotion I haven't learned to identify, so I veered my attention away from the subject and on to the task at hand.

I'm looking for food. Right. Breakfast is what they call food at this time of day, and I hadn't found anything yet. In fact, by now it was almost the time people call food Lunch.

I continued the familiar long trek from my little temporary 'home' to a familiar diner that promised fresh food daily, which meant fresh garbage daily as well. People were beginning to pack into the store for lunch during their short lunch breaks, many using the opportunity to refill on caffeine, and I watched through the glass front as a line slowly began growing before entering the side ally. As expected, the dumpster had the previous day's castoffs nicely up top. If one ignored the overpowering smell of the older garbage these almost smelled fresh.

Though memories of my first life often eluded me I remembered clearly the majority of my time in captivity. The experiments to understand my abilities. The weeks spent in darkness.

_A phenomenon, _they called me. _A miracle. _Well if that's how they treat miracles these days, it's no wonder there aren't miracles anymore.

Years were spent training and laying on a table with straps restraining me so I couldn't escape the jabs of pain – needles. Or at least I think it was years. Time seems to slip by when either frozen or alone in a small, dark room where insanity was a friend.

When I realized I was being watched, I'm not quite sure, but somewhere in between dry bites I became aware of the fine hairs on my neck raising as my body warned me that I had someone's attention. Acting as if I wasn't aware, I finished my meal and tried to determine whether my observer was harmful or not, and how I would react in either case. The person didn't do anything other than watch so the chances of them being dangerous went up. Nobody simply stares at a homeless person eating their lunch for this long. Not only was it…what's the word?..._rude_, but no one sees the homeless. I'm supposed to be invisible.

Hiding my growing panic, I throw my remains back into the trash and walk off as if none-the-wiser while straining my senses to pinpoint where my observer was. Despite the growing foot traffic I heard as a heavy pair of footsteps started up as soon as I emerged from the alley. I kept my attention on the slight sound behind me of shoes meeting the concrete, someone's anticipated breathing, and if I tried hard enough I could imagine I hear their excited heartbeat as well.

Definitely dangerous. For years now I'd been careful, always moving, making sure nothing could lead _them _back to me. I wracked my brains on how I was found by anyone, and if I had even been found in the first place. Brief flashes filled my mind of my time in captivity and I knew I couldn't go back. With this in mind I determined the best courses of action, finally settling on eluding the pursuer so that I could spy on them myself and get more information on who was following me. As far as I knew it could simply be someone upset with my presence around the diner.

Plan now formed in my mind, I abruptly took off in a random direction and listened as their footsteps took off after me. My way-too-fast-to-be-normal pace didn't slow until I turned a few sharp corners and hid myself between the throngs of tourists and locals, making sure I hadn't lost track of the running footsteps. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep attention off myself for long since I was smelly and dressed in ill-fitting, worn-out clothes so I quickly ducked into another alley beside an apartment building and made my way to its fire escape stairs. Due to my short stature I stopped a good distance away from it before taking a running leap at the ladder and hooking my hands on the bottom rung to pull it down. After that it was easy work to scale it and quickly pull it up behind me – erasing all evidence – and proceeding to the top of the tall building where I quickly spotted my pursuer.

Jeans, white T-shirt, spikey brown hair, baseball cap with a Broncos logo on it, – I wouldn't have immediately pegged him as a threat if it weren't for the faint outline of a gun beneath his shirt and the uncontained excitement in his heartbeat, and if I concentrated hard I could faintly detect his mind – all those things that plagued him mentally – amongst the mobs of strangers out.

I was so busy determining who sent him after me and the level of danger he himself presented as an armed individual that I didn't keep myself aware of the seemingly empty rooftop behind me. It was a moment after I realized the brunette had a comm in his ear that I realized my mistake. By then it was too late to run from the presence behind me. Alarm surged through my body in the form of adrenaline and I whirled around, wishing I had something around for protection. I was foolish, lulled into a sense of false security by the years of silence. My knife was under my sleeping bag where I'd been leaving it for weeks now.

"I'll jump." I am aware that this isn't how conversations usually begin, even with my limited people skills, but I'm pretty sure in this case casual conversation wasn't needed. And I was right.

"I wouldn't advise that. A fall like that might hurt." I tried to imagine that the kind blue eyes were mocking me but I could easily identify the sincerity in his expression. Because of that I took a step away from the edge. None of my old captors ever looked at me like that.

"What do you want?" It still came out suspicious, but it was definitely less defensive than my last input in this odd exchange.

"We want to help." My senses perked up at the sound of the fire escape ladder coming down as my pursuer came to us and I was keenly aware that I would soon be outnumbered. Whether these people were bringing me back to whoever had me before or not, they were armed and working for someone. In other words, they're still dangerous. I'd have to get this over with soon if I wanted to keep the odds even. My concern must have shown in my body language – considering I had shifted closer to the edge again – so the large blonde continued quickly.

"I know that you have special abilities and there's a place you can go to help you understand them better." My blood chilled and I was briefly able to identify my emotion as _fear_ before I stepped back quickly off the roof. Or at least that was my intention.

A strong hand wrapped around my wrist at the last second and held tight as gravity attempted to pull me down in its grip, and if I were normal my arm would have ripped out of its socket when I was pulled taut between the opposing forces playing tug-of-war with me and slammed into the side of the building at the abrupt loss of momentum.

I shrieked, not out of pain, as I pulled and clawed at the arm holding me. He was trying to pull me back to the _pain, _the _insanity, _and I refused to go back. I _couldn't _go back.

"Let go!" He ignored me and displayed amazing strength as he single-handedly pulled me back up, closer to his companion now kneeling at his side. Once it became blatantly obvious that he wouldn't listen to my pleas – for release, for mercy – I resorted to an unpleasant yet ever-effective tactic. I gripped his wrist in both hands and used it to pull myself level to his arm before closing my mouth around a large chunk of it.

It's said that the jaw is strong enough that you could virtually break all your teeth with enough effort, so it really wasn't a surprise when I felt warm liquid fill my mouth, the taste of the iron in his blood coating my tongue.

He was yelling now, and his companion reached down to try detaching me. His hands scrabbled at my face, pushing every-which way to weaken my grip. When that proved ineffective he instead grabbed the side of my head and slammed it into the building, hard enough stars burst through my vision. After that they were able to pry me off of him and finally succeeded in pulling me up together. By then my vision had refocused and I ignored the throbbing coming from the side of my head in favor of scrambling up to my feet. Fine, they won't let me run. That didn't mean I wouldn't go without a fight. My heart thudded in my chest at the same pace as the growing throb in my head and I pulled myself into a fighting stance as I evaluated them both. The large one would pack a large punch and could easily pin my slight form down so I'd have to be quick to keep out of his grasp. The brunette one was small but I'd seen his gun. So despite his smaller frame he was easily more of a threat. If done right, however, and depending on how trigger-happy he was, he could potentially be used to take out his companion.

But apparently while they were pulling me up from my fall a third companion had joined us on the roof. I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye and turned just in time to see a woman with bright red hair pulling the trigger on her tranq gun. The last thing I remember was falling to my knees and being caught by the blonde man before I could hit my head.


	2. Escape Attempt

**Disclaimer: I only own my things. Disney owns absolutely everything else. And I mean _everything_.**

[o]

Chapter 2

(Now They Ruin My)

Escape Attempt

I remember my dad as a coward. Of course, I don't actually remember him other than a few snippets from before he left. But I remember mom talking about him. He had what she called _itchy feet, _never wanted to stay in one place for long. She'd always said that with resentment, and after some years I realized that he didn't have itchy feet, he simply wanted to run from his responsibilities as the provider of a family. When the war first started up there was a lot of arguing between the two of them, that's what I remember most. He wanted to escape through the war, she didn't want to lose him anymore than she already had. Sometimes he'd storm out after the arguments and leave mom crying alone with me hiding in another room. Then one day he got his way. He stormed out like he had been for years now and didn't come back. He had enlisted, despite my mother begging him not to, and he found his escape.

"He's brave to fight for the country," mom would repeat to me, eyes empty, hands cradling her large swollen belly. He wasn't brave, and he wasn't a fighter. He was never a _fighter, _he was always a _flier. _And I hate that I got that from him.

...

I woke up in Heaven. Which was odd, because I was sure I'd wake up in a cold, barren lab room. But it felt like Heaven, because surely Heaven is the only place where you can sleep on clouds. I wriggled slightly on the cloud, rubbing my hands across it lazily. Mm, the cloud is really warm.

It took a moment for reality to set back in, but as soon as it did my eyes snapped open and focused on the unfamiliar roof with a camera fixed in one corner. Yep, not Heaven. And I was laying in a bed, not on a cloud. Just the same, it was the softest and warmest bed I'd ever laid in. Due to this I was tempted to shut my eyes and pretend I hadn't woken up yet so I could enjoy a few more moments of blissful ignorance but I knew as my training kicked in that I couldn't do that. I was in foreign territory, taken against my will by unknowns. Or at least I hoped they were unknowns. None of this was familiar, at least, so that's a good sign.

I sat up swiftly and regretted it immediately, groaning as my head began throbbing and all my bumps and scrapes made themselves known. The headache was easily the worst and I knew from past experiences with tranqs that it wouldn't fade for another hour or so. Pushing past it I swung my legs out of the bed to begin scoping out the room. There were two doors, one opening to a small bathroom and the other locked securely and likely leading to the easiest route to freedom. Oh well. What's that saying? When a door closes a window opens, or something along those lines.

Before I'd escaped I'd never been kept in a room with a window. I doubted the many facilities I'd been kept in even had any windows at all, so the fact there was a window made me wonder if this wasn't slightly too easy. I approached it cautiously, wondering if it was some sort of trick, but reached it without incident. Alright then. I glanced out, looking down to see how far the jump would be. And kept looking down and down. My stomach did an odd somersault and I took quick steps back to safety. Nope, nuh-uh.

Never in my life had I been in a building so tall. Somehow the few times I'd been conscious in planes didn't even compare to seeing all the tiny vehicles and miniscule people way down on the ground below. Sure, the planes I'd been in weren't really the kinds taken for leisure and the only light provided where I was kept was electric, but I still knew that the only thing keeping me from a long drop was a couple scraps of metal.

I pursed my lips as I forced my nerves down. Possible escape route or not, a window could be very useful in getting a layout of the land and spotting any weaknesses in their defense. Cautiously, and irrationally worried the ground would give out without warning, I made my way back to the window and scoped out the area I could see. To either side there was water, and the only thing leading across it was a strip of concrete with slow but steady two-way traffic. On the bit of land not taken up by buildings was lush vegetation but I knew it would be easy for them to flush me out if I tried to hide in it. My only chance of getting away from here was crossing the road. It was a long way to the other side, but the foolishly hopeful part of me reasoned that I was faster than them and as long as I went against traffic no cars would be in pursuit. After that it would be easy work to hide myself in the expanse of green between us and the next buildings. Of course it's possible that there was an easier route on the other side of the building, but I couldn't be sure without seeing it and wasn't willing to take that chance.

With everything done that I could accomplish I set myself on the ground at the foot of the bed and stared at the door, waiting for someone to show up and give me some indication on what I was dealing with here. I'd already ruled it out that this was the place I was held captive before, but that doesn't mean I'm safe. It could simply mean that some of the many other evil people out there had gotten their hands on me. Due to the camera in the room I knew they were aware I had woken up, yet I continued to wait. Despite myself I was soon fiddling with the bandages wrapped securely around my arms, feeling as enough time passed for the throb in my head to fade to nothing. The shadows cast by the light coming through the window shifted slightly, and still I waited. And slowly I felt the tickle of that emotion from the roof, _fear, _as still the door remained closed.

Would anyone ever come? Were they going to leave me here? Had the blonde man brought me to a new version of My Room, where they planned to leave me until I lost all sense of reality? Logic tried to break into the fear, reasoning that even if this was the case it was at least better than the last arrangement. I had a cloud-bed, a window, blankets, light.

Despite this my breathing quickened steadily as my hands clenched into fists. By the time fear had gripped me so hard in its clutches black was starting to encroach on my vision, my heart leap as someone audibly unlocked the door with a slight _snick, _and I leaped to my feet. I was so relieved that someone had come for me that I forgot to be scared as the woman came in. She had brown hair and was dressed completely in leather, so I wondered briefly if she was the one who had shot me on the roof, before remembering the woman on the roof had bright red hair, like searing fire. We sized each other up for a second, and I wondered if she would speak first, because I sure wouldn't.

"I'm Agent Hill. Sorry about the harsh treatment, but you were getting out of hand from what I've been told." In other words, she's not sorry about it. Her face was cold, collected, but I had been trained to read the most passive faces and I could see her curiosity. "Something about trying to jump off an apartment building roof."

"What do you want?" I hadn't meant for that to come out; I had been going to make a snarky comment on how people don't like to be abducted, but I guess this would work. She arched a perfect eyebrow.

"Didn't Rogers tell you? We're here to help you with your abilities." Once again my blood froze, but not to the extent as before – I had already proven to myself that this was not where I was before. For one thing someone was talking to me, and I didn't wake up strapped to a table with IVs in my arms and a whole army of needles on a table beside me. I took a deep breath.

"I don't need your help." She seemed to be expecting this answer.

"Unfortunately, that's not for you to decide. We're keeping you here not only to help you and keep you safe, but also to keep the people around you safe until we have learned more about your abilities." Another way of saying they wanted to study me.

A blur – they're odd things. Few of us have ever truly seen blurs, but with one word people can envision something they've hardly seen; understand the concept in their mind without the proof from their eyes. Amazing things, words.

Well I was a blur, when I jumped up and knocked Agent Hill into the wall behind her. A solid _thunk_ sounded as she made impact before she crumpled to the floor. I felt a little bad since I had expected her to put up more of a fight but kicked her sharply in the head regardless before racing down the hall. It would buy me a little more time, and though they had apparently underestimated me I knew it wouldn't happen a second time if I failed. Right now I needed to find stairs.

I suddenly doubled back and couldn't believe my luck. This place must not normally be used for containing people because I'd have died before finding a map back at the last place. Yet here one was, a clear map at head-level giving clear instructions on how to get out of the building in case of emergencies. I guess this qualifies. Taking a mental picture of the map, I continued racing down the hall until I got to a door kindly labeled as the stairs which I took two at a time, cursing my short legs.

There were a lot of stairs – too many – and I worried that my time was running out. If Agent Hill hadn't woken up already I knew it was only a matter of minutes. With this on mind I strained myself further until I finally reached the door labeled GARAGE and slowed my rapid pace. My breathing came in pants, but I forced it to calm as I listened for any possible threats on the other side. My ears perked at the sound of voices, but they were still far from the door so I opened the door quietly and slipped out before darting behind the closest parked vehicles. Voices from nearly a dozen people sounded from further in the garage, talking about the mission they had just returned from. Knowing time wasn't on my side I darted to the next car, slowly making my way to the garage doors as the group came closer and closer.

Adrenaline pumped through me as I slunk through the shadows, keeping to the sides of cars and crouching to keep under windows, avoiding the sunlight whenever the large doors opened and let a few more cars in or out before shutting once again. I was so, so close. As soon as the group got on the elevator I wouldn't have to worry so much about being seen, aside from the drivers.

I crouched in the shadow of a pillar next to the door, waiting for it to open as I kept an eye on the group who had finally reached the elevator and were now waiting for it to reach our floor. I made the mistake of letting some relief go through me, thinking that if things continued at this rate I might actually make it to freedom. And from there the nearest train station to another state far away from this one.

Then I heard someone's walkie flare to life with someone's frantic and alarmed words – Agent Hill – and I withheld any curses in order to keep my position hidden, hoping they would instead race up the stairs and search for me closer to the floor I'd been held on. Once she finished talking the garage door finally opened with the worst timing and one of the men's eyes snapped in my direction at the commotion, immediately locking gaze with my own. Time to run.

I bolted out of the garage door, barely avoiding being run over by the car being let into the garage in my haste to leave, voices yelling as the man alerted the others to my presence. Dangit, I should've kicked her harder. If she'd waited just a few moments longer I would've been all but home free. As it was I tried to fool myself into thinking I actually had a chance of outrunning everyone.

I darted into the sparse oncoming traffic and darted out of the way of a couple cars as they screeched to a halt in surprise and ran full hilt as more and more voices began sounding behind me. My eyes were fixed on the trees so far in the distance and I knew there was no way I'd make it. Right now they were chasing, but soon they'd start shooting. There weren't enough cars to properly shield me and the bridge was to narrow to carry out any effective dodging maneuvers. I knew a lost fight when I saw one.

The old me – Asset – and the original me would've turned around and surrendered, turning myself in for a harsh punishment before being locked up again. This me, however, was a little more reckless so I continued on. This me – No One – had experienced too much freedom again, tasting what the original me had taken for granted, and no way was I going to go back to captivity without giving my all to get away. I'd go down running, if that's what it took.

It wasn't long before I heard someone's rapid footsteps gaining on me and I grew surprised to hear that this person was going significantly faster than I was, which shouldn't have been possible for any of them. I glanced behind me and was shocked to see the same blond man from the roof, blue eyes staring into mine before I turned back around and strained to go faster. Not a few moments later his hand wrapped around my bicep and jerked me out of my sprint. I stumbled at the force but let habit take control as I switched gears from _flight _to _fight. _

Using his opposing momentum against him I brought us both to the ground, easily getting on top and striking him in the face twice in quick succession as the other hand held him in place. It was a minor delay, but with him out I could continue my run. Surprisingly no guns had been fired and I wondered if they'd expected the man to take me down. Seems they'd underestimated me again.

Only he hadn't passed out. In my shock he switched our positions, him getting the upper hand and pinning my arms to my sides. Having fought my share of people larger than me I was familiar with the move and without hesitation brought my knee up to do the worst a woman can to a man. His face went white with pain but he kept hold of me. At this point I could hear others growing closer and desperately went to hit him again. Expecting it this time he adjusted so he could both keep me down and avoid my kicks, but the slight movement was all I needed. I broke free of his grip and quickly regained my feet, turning in a circle to gain momentum as he followed me up and attempted to kick him in the chest to knock him off balance but he brought his hands up quickly to block it.

He was between me and the greenery now, and I needed a way to get past him, so without missing a beat I replanted both feet and darted at him again with a series of punches that were blocked for the most part until he caught one hand and used it to grab the other and pin me against him. My foot was promptly stomped on his and though I wasn't tall enough to slam my head back into his, my elbow was at the perfect spot to rip out of his grasp and slam back into his gut.

I made it two steps out of his grasp before someone else slammed into me and used…her…weight to knock me to the ground, fiery red hair entering my vision. The force knocked my breath away and before I knew it both had me pinned to the ground, hands held firmly together at my lower back.

"Seems she's a fighter," said the woman's voice.

"Tell me about it."

The green seemed further than ever, and with it freedom. Dread stabbed through me and sorrow followed like ice. I couldn't do this again. I wouldn't survive captivity a second time. Desperation gave me new energy and I wriggled frantically in their grasp. When it didn't give I slumped to the ground and rested my forehead on the hot concrete. My mouth opened on it's own accord and I began to scream and wail, letting the world know my misery, wriggling against both with a vengeance and straining to free my hands or regain my feet.

"Steve!"

"On it." Something struck my head and like that I went completely limp as consciousness fled me.

[o]

Feedback is always appreciated


	3. Calling A Truce

As I've mentioned on a couple of my other fics I'm trying to update at least one of my stories once a week. There's no consistent schedule of which will be updated when, but I figure right now everyone can use a distraction from the world. In all honesty my creative juices are shot and I'm stressed, and scared. But I know you're all in the same boat, so I'm doing this for you. I hope I can help at least a little.

**Disclaimer: The only things I own are No One and the plot. And now onto the story.**

[o]

Chapter 3

Calling a Truce

(Albeit Somewhat Reluctantly)

A very long time ago, I had a brother named Tom. For a while he was the only thing I had, really. When he was young, maybe seven, his school teacher was relieved due to suspected tuberculosis. I'm not sure what happened to her, whether she survived or not, but I did know that not long after that Tommy started showing the same symptoms. We didn't have the money to take him to a doctor, and mom had gone into denial despite the indisputable evidence that something was wrong with him. She had already lost her husband, I guess she couldn't handle losing her son as well. She said it would pass, I said he would die. So I began going to corners to beg for money. For the first little while Tommy was well enough to come with me, but at one point his condition worsened dramatically to the point I had to spend large amounts of time caring for him at home, only going out to corners whenever he finally succumbed to pained exhaustion. By the time there was enough money for the doctor his labored and too-shallow breathing was painful to listen to, bouts of consciousness were few and far between, and when the time came he was so exhausted I ended up carrying him most of the way to and from the doctor. I remember the crushing dread when I was told to keep him comfortable, that it's all I could do to ease his passing. When I was told there was nothing I could do.

…

When I woke up this time it was like a switch had been flipped, rather than the slow ascent into reality I had experienced the time before. One moment I was out and the next all my senses had returned in abrupt clarity. The smell of clean linens with my unwashed scent masking it, vague pain on my lower arms and the back of my head, as well as a minor headache. All this could be ignored, so I moved on to the familiar feeling of being watched that itched at my skin like a rash or a bug bite. Keeping my breath even to feign sleep I focused on the breathing I could make out over the hum of an air conditioner. Three people, one obviously trained to be silent since to anyone else her slight breath would be imperceptible. Their breathing was evening out enough to suggest they'd been waiting in one spot for a short amount of time but not long enough to have been waiting here for longer than five minutes. If they had been they'd be moving – however little – with restlessness. Going by all of this, and the fact all three had their attention fixed on me, I could only come to one conclusion.

"I know you're awake," said a deep voice.

It means that they knew I was going to wake up soon. I focused in on the pain coming from one arm where an IV would normally be inserted. It ached just enough to hint that the tube had been removed fairly recently. Maybe even only minutes ago.

Surprise no longer on my side my eyes flew open and I instinctually tried to move up off of the bed. Before I could do more than sit up someone's hands grabbed my shoulders and forced me to stay in place, and due to the drug still flowing through my veins I wasn't able to put up as much of a fight as I normally would've. Knowing the odds were against me in number and current physical capabilities I stilled and met the blue gaze of the familiar blonde. Familiar because he'd now helped capture me two times, and knocked me out one of said times.

"Who are you?" I think this is the best conversation I've started so far, running my eyes over the other two as well to analyze any weaknesses I may be able to take advantage of if needed.

"Ah, yes, with your escape attempt we didn't really have time for introductions," it was said with audible sarcasm and a lot of annoyance, and that's from the perspective of someone with virtually no social skills. My eyes fixed on the dark skinned, bald man as he spoke and I mentally filed away that his left side was likely to be the most vulnerable. "I'm Nickolas Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., this is Agent Romanoff, and Steve Rogers." I studied the woman who was also responsible for knocking me out and regarded her unreadable gaze. She oozed confidence and danger to her enemies, so I determined it was best to avoid her in a direct conflict. It was easy to tell just from a look that underestimating her could get me severely injured or killed, and she knew it.

When the blonde man let go of me and took a few steps back I felt myself relax marginally and looked down briefly, feigning focus on pushing myself into a more upright position, and used the opportunity to study him as well from past my eyelashes. I remembered fighting him on the bridge, and decided he was best to not underestimate as well. At first glance he looked very strong, but this was misleading. I knew from experience now that he was much stronger than I expected.

"Now why don't you tell us who you are." It wasn't a request, simply a kind order, and I weighed my options. He was clearly a no-nonsense type and commanded respect even in how he stood and talked, so any attempts at lying would likely go south. Plus, I'd already proven many times over to myself that this isn't the place I was kept _before,_but even with these assurances nobody up and trusts people working for an unknown organization that's holding them in an unfamiliar place against their will. So bare minimum, then.

"I'm No One," I finally settled. Instead of taking this as an evasion tactic, as many were prone to doing, he gave me a long look that I returned equally. He may be the one in charge here, and I may be the one confined to sitting defenseless and weak in strange territory, but I'd had my fill of cowering before others. He may be an intimidating character with his dark scowl, eyepatch, and long leather trench coat but I'd seen things so much worse.

"You say this like it's your name."

"It's not my name," was my automatic correction. "My title; a description. I don't have a name." I held back the familiar urge to ramble that emerged whenever I conversed, trying to make him understand with my limited communication skills. Despite the brief explanation he seemed to understand, much to my relief.

"I see. Were you ever given a name, or did you throw it away?" The red head – Agent Romanoff – narrowed her eyes slightly at me when he posed the latter option, the only thing showing her interest. My eyes lingered on her, wondering if she had done the very thing mentioned, before nodding slightly in response.

"I had a name a long time ago, but I forgot it." I tensed slightly, knowing this is the difficult part. Where the questions were going to pour and I wouldn't know what to answer to keep myself safe. If he knew the truth would he want to experiment on me as well? Or was it true that they help people here?

The Director gave me a long look before turning his eye slightly to glance at the two agents with him.

"That's enough for the interrogation on such personal matters. Now we need to get to the matter at hand: your ability. What is it?" I was so startled by the random change of topic to something less invasive that I answered by instinct, pretending I didn't see Agent Romanoff turn a recorder on behind her back.

"I heal." Many a person has gotten annoyed to the point of violence by my short answers, but there really wasn't any more needed to be said for his question. It really was rather self-explanatory, if one didn't overthink it.

"Care to elaborate on that?" And he's overthinking it. I really wasn't sure what was so difficult to grasp, and thus had a hard time finding what words to say. Was it simply that he didn't understand? Had I said it wrong? No, the words were right. So perhaps he wasn't entirely sure to what extent? I suppose I could give a detailed dialogue on what exactly I could and couldn't do to the extent of my understanding. But no, long explanations are usually frowned on. Guhh, people are so difficult.

"I heal," I repeated, since that's really the only explanation I had that didn't over-inform, confuse, or leave out the brunt of what I could do. I scrunched my eyebrows, hesitating a few times on possible clarifications before giving up and settled on another form of explanation instead.

"Let me show you." Standing up, I approached the man that towered over me, with the sincere blue eyes and blonde hair. At first he tensed subtly, preparing to subdue me once again if I showed any hostile intent, but I assumed the Director gave him a look from behind my back as he just as quickly relaxed back into a neutral position.

Approaching his arm, the one further from Agent Romanoff, I motioned toward the bandage which he unwrapped both cautiously and curiously at the same time, revealing the bite mark I had left on him from our first skirmish. It had already healed a lot more than I had expected it to, though our most recent scuffle seemed to have agitated it a bit. An oval of deep indents covered by a thick scab was all that was left, the edges already puckering with newly developed skin.

Taking a breath I moved one hand to rest just over the injury and lowered my head slightly in concentration. This kind of healing was easy and almost instinctual after so long practicing and honing it. At the edges of my mind I could feel the slight prick of the pain in his arm, begging to be relieved, and gradually it was moved over to my own arm in the same spot.

The silence was deafening, all attention focused on me and the hand on his wound. As the moment stretched longer the tension in the room rapidly grew as I tested their patience and the tendril of trust they had extended out to me. Out of the corner of my eye Agent Romanoff's hand twitched for her concealed gun. As I felt the last of the wound be erased I lifted my eyes slightly to meet the man's blue gaze with my own. I was taking a leap here, showing them what I could do. And I wanted to make sure I wouldn't regret it.

His eyes were clear. Curious, cautious, much wiser than I expected with the guarantee he'd seen his fair share of hardship and had experiences beyond what many would imagine. And they were kind. No ill intent at all. He met my own gaze without hesitation and there I saw that I could at least somewhat return that bit of trust they'd so warily gave me.

Then I lowered my eyes and removed my hands from him, revealing the flawless skin where my bite mark had been just a few seconds before. The silence was palpable as we took in the flawless, unblemished skin. The sight was familiar to me, but I let them have the moment. If nothing else than to subtly catch the others' reactions. Agent Romanoff's hand relaxed away from her gun, which I took as a good sign.

The moment was ruined when I brought my hand up to itch uncomfortably at my now-aching arm as I felt for myself how strong a jaw could be. The move didn't go unnoticed by the other three as their gazes shifted either to me or my offending arm. Feeling unexpectedly awkward at their attention I stopped the motion of discomfort and instead clasped my hands behind me. The Director fixed me with a look that I knew was demanding clarification and this time I didn't hesitate, only glancing at the kind blonde man quickly to reassure myself that I might be able to trust these people.

"There's a setback. When I heal others I feel their pain instead." The dark skinned man raised his single eyebrow but didn't question my explanation so I allowed myself a bit of pride. Looks like my conversational skills aren't quite as abysmal as I thought. The pride was quickly quelled as I lowered my gaze, not quite sure what emotion triggered such a reaction as I addressed the man I'd just healed. Rogers.

"I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm just…I thought you were someone else." His steely gaze stayed on me for a moment before one end of his lips was tugged up, following a raising eyebrow, to form a smirk.

" Just don't make a habit of it, or it might get annoying." And with that I determined that Steve Rogers was definitely a good guy.

Shortly after that the three of them left the room, the Director instructing me to clean up in the en suite and get some rest. He then informed me he'd be back the next day to continue our conversation and determine what the next step from here would be. I wasn't quite sure what that meant and wasn't sure I was comfortable with the possible implications of that, but at the same time taking a shower sounded really good so I determined to deal with that when he returned.

My shower was much longer than I'd intended it to be. Only, I wasn't sure if I'd ever actually taken a shower with unlimited warm water. Or supplied with warm water at all. The last time I could remember bathing in anything warmer than lukewarm was ages ago in front of the coal fire, a quick scrub in the self-warmed and filled bath so it would still be warm for Tommy's bath. Other than that it's a bucket of water with a rag or the cold scourging before I was shown off, or most recently a hose in the dead of night.

By the time I emerged the mirror was clouded with condensation but that was solved with a few swipes of the fluffy towel. An unfamiliar girl stared back at me, brown hair darkened and clumped from the moisture in it, drips of water running down the scarred and too-thin frame. On the counter was a fresh outfit, soft and firm material. It wasn't leather like Agent Romanoff's, or anything that would make one mistake me for an agent. In fact, it was a simple white T-shirt and black sweater, as well as thin jeans. On the ground was a pair of socks and black tennis shoes, which were swiftly pulled on before I exited back into the bedroom, now cleaner and dressed in cleaner clothes than I had since taking to the streets. Everything fit wonderfully, masking the slight emaciation while still being snug and not hindering movement. Idly, I wondered if someone had taken my measurements at some point while I was out.

The thought was pushed aside as I made my way back to the cloud mattress as sleep beckoned despite the sky outside the window being slightly illuminated as day gradually succumbed to night. Deep exhaustion settled in my bones, spurred on by recent events and the lingering warmth from the shower. I felt clean, relaxed, and cautiously optimistic that things might look up from here. So with that mindset I settled down on the pillows still fully clothed and hoping for the best.

But the peace of the moment was betrayed by the turmoil of nightmares.

[o]

I hope you guys like the changes I made. I'm trying to add a bit of substance to help clarify later chapters in a way I failed to before, as well as lengthen the chapters as well. Unfortunately, adding substance has been easy. Which really says a lot about my 16-year-old writing (-.-) Maybe I should look over BtI as well…..


	4. There Are Faces in the Dark

**Guest: ****I'm glad you're enjoying the rewrite! It's a relief to go back through and reconstruct everything and it's good to know you like the end result**

Hey guys! I have an almost completely new chapter here for you guys which covers part of No One's captivity in greater detail than has been given before. I really like how it turned out, and figured all the information I took out from the original chapter can be covered later on. In fact a lot of it was actually mentioned multiple times originally …:\

In other news, I have brother who lives in CA. Complete health nut, runs marathons and does half iron mans frequently. Just a couple weeks ago he called me while doing an 84 mile bike ride in preparation for some thing he has in a few months. Yeah, he's also a nurse treating Covid patients and is high up on my list of people likely to contract it. For good reason, apparently. He tested positive the other day.

He's under quarantine in his apartment, miserable, but says he's okay and feels like he's gotten through the worst of it. I'm one of the only people he's told in my family so I've been under a lot of stress trying to deal with it since he doesn't want me to tell anyone. He thinks my dad (and another brother) will minimize the situation because he has high exposure as a nurse.

So yeah, rant's over. We're both pretty convinced he'll be okay and his chances of surviving are admittedly a lot higher than otherwise. But I'm not going to feel better until his two weeks are up, and he's still miserable so there's that. For the record, he does not recommend getting corona.

**Disclaimer: If I owned anything you recognize I'd use the money to jet all my family to a well-stocked, deserted island where we could stay peacefully until everything blows over. But I don't, so I haven't.**

[o]

Chapter 4

There Are Faces in the Dark

(And Voices in my Head)

After being told to give up on Tommy I tried, really, and for a bit I even succeeded. I stopped going out to corners, stopped cleaning the house and barely managed to force myself away from his bedside to make meals for mother. The week before the illness took its toll was spent trying to get him to eat and helping him to drink, stroking his sweat-soaked bangs from his eyes and speaking softly to him whenever he was coherent enough. I was pulled out of school before learning how to read very well, and the only books we owned were school books, so instead I'd pull together fantastical stories of heroes and princesses, of dragons and knights. Some days he didn't wake up at all, so I would take a rag and drip water between his horribly chapped lips before folding it on his forehead. I'd wish his fever would come down, then bury my eyes next to his burning head and allow myself to cry because I knew it wouldn't come down until he was dead.

On one such day I knew it was the end. For the first time in a week I lifted his light form from the bed and settled him on my lap as I held him to myself on the ground. Still he didn't wake, and I listened as he dragged each painful breath into his exhausted lungs and wheezed it back out, taking a moment too long before weakly dragging in the next. I bent my head over him as tears leaked from my eyes, humming the melody to a sad lullaby I couldn't remember the words to. I knew I was going to lose the only person who's always been by my side, the person I loved more than anyone, and the only reason I had left to survive. Mother was alive still, but after losing father something in her had died as well. She was a wreath who only visited in the night, gone at all hours to the mills. After Tommy left I wouldn't have anyone left to care for and who cared for me.

And though I had convinced myself to let go, something in me refused to say goodbye to him tonight. I tightened my arms around him and swallowed my tears, feeling anger rush through me at the injustice of it all. I wished with all my might, with everything in my young body that I could suffer this fate for him and give him a chance to live out the life he had dreamed up for himself before it was so unfairly ripped out of his hands. And like that his little form relaxed in my grip as he stopped struggling to breath. For a moment my heart stopped as I thought he had finally given up, but then spotted the deep rise and fall of his chest. For the first time in weeks his face wasn't screwed up in pain and the fevered flush had left his face. As I struggled to comprehend what had just occurred a sharp pain spiked in my chest and suddenly I was the one on the ground, gasping for breath and wheezing past the pain in my lungs.

That night mother came home to her son, completely recovered from what we both knew was going to be the death of him, and instead I was the one slumped in pained exhaustion on the floor next to his bed. Though she was exhausted herself she lifted me into my own bed and cared for me as my body rapidly fought of the pain it had stolen from another.

"I told you," she breathed when I woke up, sounding younger than she had in far too long. "I told you it would pass." And I drifted off again with the relieved knowledge that despite how she had hidden it, she was just as worried for Tommy as I had been.

…

My dream was dark. Literally. I lay in a room curled on the thin mattress that served as my bed, eyes open wide and focused on the little lines of light let in around the little door where food was occasionally pushed through. I knew it was a dream, one that came up often in the years since I'd escaped. But that didn't stop the remembered fear from seeping in as I wondered _what if? _What if this was reality and my freedom was the dream? My eyes moved away from the light into the deep darkness, feeling my eyes dilate to make out the stinking bucket in one corner and the metal walls around me. I knew if I looked too long that the walls would start closing in on me so my eyes finally made their way back to the little lines of light.

It was cold, and everything hurt. My body throbbed in time with my heart, if not from the deep-seated soreness from training and physical experiments, then from the many lacerations scattered around my body. My hands ran down the inside of my arms, feeling the small circular scabs from where needles had poked. IVs, blood withdrawals, injections, none of which I knew the results of. But the ache was fading more than it had in the entire time I'd been held captive, which gave some clue to how long I'd been caged in My Room.

Numbness came creeping in, drowning out the ever-present fear, and the darkness began growing faces. In a detached way I knew what was coming, in the same way I knew that this was only a memory and not reality. But as I gazed into the deepening darkness, trying to focus on one of the faces forming in the edge of my vision that vague awareness became less and less pressing. As I knew they would the walls began slowly distorting, pressing ever so slowly closer and closer as my chest tightened in fright. I didn't want to die, but the walls were going to crush me. My breathing quickened as I watched the ceiling, visible only from the miniscule light reflecting off of it, lower closer and closer to me and before long my breath came in the form of ragged gasps, chest heaving as I buried my head in my knees as I lay on the mattress, bringing my scarred arms up to cover my shaved head.

But I still knew, _I knew _I was going to be _crushed _and no one would listen to my screams and the only witnesses would be the unfamiliar faces sculpted out of shadow, and it was so quiet, but it was so _loud _with the ring of nothing and my pounding heartbeat roaring in my ears. This was all familiar by that point, having spent so long already alone in the dark. But then the voices started.

_You're going to die here. _

My head snapped up, painful hope surging through me that someone had come into My Room. Hope, because then I wouldn't be alone anymore and I could assure myself that I wasn't alone and forgotten in this forsaken facility. Painful, because I knew if someone was here that I'd be dragged back out to pain and exhaustion. Surrounded by people but still alone. Which was better? The room that torments me or the people who torture me?

The walls were all back in place, the darkness simply that, but there was no one in sight.

"Hello?" My voice was raw from the screaming I wasn't aware I had done, lungs aching from the chore of breathing through my panic attack. No one answered, and the darkness mocked me. "Hello?" It was a hopeless whisper this time, and I laid my head back down in resignation.

_No one will miss you._

This time I snapped up to my feet, because there was no way I had imagined a voice twice in the space of as many minutes.

"Where are you? What do you want?"

_Everyone you love is gone. _

_There's no one left to mourn you._

This time there were two voices, hissing painful truths in my ears. I whipped around, nearly falling over on weak legs, but still there wasn't anyone there.

_It's your own fault you're here. _

_Everyone's forgotten you._

_They will kill you._

I covered my ears, trying to block them out but it did nothing. Voices hissed in my mind, in my ears, and I soon found myself bent over my knees on the ground. My forehead pressed into the cold metal floor while my fingers clawed at my ears, at my head, trying to make them stop.

"Shut up. Shut up shut up shutupshutupshutup…."

_You wish you were-_

_-forgotten all-_

_\- ust kill yourse-_

_-ll torture-_

_You'll always be alone._

In the hallway outside of My Room a bloodcurdling scream rang out before it abruptly cut off, because inside the room I had lifted my forehead and smashed it back down, forcing the voices away by knocking myself unconscious.

…

_You should kill them all._

"I don't have any weapons."

_When you get out, kill them while you train._

"How do you know I'll get out? Maybe they'll keep me in here forever." With that a whole slew of new voices rang out, hissing affirmations and oppositions, whispering nonsensical phrases of destruction and despair. More often than not this is how they spoke. Over each other and around each other, agreeing while disagreeing. Sometimes it got quiet enough I could hold up a decent conversation with them, though other times I found myself joining in on the racket, adding my own nonsense to the clamor. Because if everyone spoke nonsense wasn't it considered more normal to _not_ make sense than _to_ make sense?

I couldn't tell how long it'd been since the voices and the dark faces had joined me in My Room (and again something whispered that this was all a dream, but by now there were a lot of whispers going on) and the pain from experimentation had faded from my body. Food laid ignored in front of the metal door, adding to the rest of the food I hadn't acknowledged in the past few days, but the pain wasn't the only thing that had faded. I found myself lacking any motivation to care, to bother, to worry about things as insignificant as food and the empty gnawing in my belly. Everything was unbreachable numbness, which was filled unsuccessfully by the pain where I'd gauged bleeding trails down my arms, in my hair, on my stomach. But this was a comforting pain. Pain that reminded me that I was still alive and could still feel. Something the voices occasionally tried to convince me of otherwise. And sometimes they succeeded. Maybe I am dead. Maybe that's a good thing.

…

Dream blurred with reality and reality with dreams. So when I was dragged, limp, away from My Room I figured it was another one of my dreams. The voices spoken around me were distorted as if I was listening to them from underwater. But the voices in my head were still there, which wasn't too weird because they'd begun making their way into my dreams more often than not lately. I was placed on a table as the voices grew concerned, but I focused on the little boy observing from one of the walls. He seemed familiar, in a somewhat disconnected way. Someone who had once been important to me. Hands slapped my face, trying to gain my attention. Pressed on my arms and began attaching things to various parts of my head and torso. But I watched as the little boy's grim face lit up with a growing smile. I returned the smile, though it was somewhat forced as something pricked at the inside of my arm. But his smile continued to grow, until his face took on an angular, evil look and it was a devil glaring maliciously over to me.

Fear rang through me and my voices picked up full force. My eyes tore off the devil boy to the frantic people around me, all wearing identical white coats and I wondered if they would all turn into devils as well. Was I in Hell? Was this the torment I'd experience for the rest of eternity?

The voices grew concerned but oddly resigned at the same time.

"We don't even know if it works. It could kill her." Huh, was that one of my voices? Somehow it seemed more substantial than the ones I'd been conversing with for so long now.

"She's useless to us either way."

Through unfocused eyes I watched as one left as the others around me continued jabbing things in my arms, watching as the wires attached to me transmitted readings to a screen being studied by others and felt as metal was secured around my wrists and ankles. What seemed like forever but a blink later the man returned, this time holding something reverently in his hands.

"This is the only sample they were able to get from Stark. I hope it works, for all our sakes."

"If she dies he'll kill us all anyway. This is our only chance."

"Then I hope you've said your goodbyes."

I spotted a glimpse of a small syringe filled with light blue liquid but that was all the warning I got before it was also injected into me, a small pinch the only indication of what they'd done. And then the burning started, beginning only in my arm but spreading out to the tips of my fingers and continuing until all I knew was _pain. _The haze of insanity left my mind for the first time in weeks, dissipating the voices and clearing my senses only so I could grasp just how much everything _hurt. _ It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, dwarfing the surgeries without anesthesia, and even the time I was forced to heal a man moments after he was stabbed clear through the heart.

An eternity was spent like that – alternating between thrashing against my bonds in pain, and laying still as my body spasmed, wishing I would just die. At some point all the doctors left, hoping to see their families one last time before I succumbed. Only I didn't. And it was with new strength that I returned to my senses, the returned voices held at bay as I tore open the bonds.

…

I woke up with a jolt, eyes darting around quickly to take in my surroundings and determining with great relief that it had all been a dream. That I was free, and no longer being tormented by _them. _After the relief came bone deep exhaustion, so I pulled myself out from under the blankets and sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over so my head rested in my hands where they were propped up on my knees. I remembered that time all too well. The first time I'd succumbed to insanity and subsequently been injected with an experimental serum nicked off of Howard Stark, made to imitate the one given to Captain America and later the Winter Soldier. They hadn't wanted to, but it was necessary to set me back in order. They needed to wipe my memories, and to do that safely without possibly effecting my abilities they needed to freeze me, which could only be done to those injected with that serum.

That day was my first escape attempt. I had been left alone to die, and thus given the opportunity to make a break for the outside. And I had made it. The facility was located somewhere up north where it was perpetually white and frozen. Even now I remembered the frigid cold against my skin as I ran for my life, the snow biting into my unprotected feat as cars more advanced than any I'd ever seen raced after me. I saw my breath in the air when I was forced to stop, held under a weighted net shot by someone on the helicopter flying ahead of me.

After that I was frozen for the first time in preparation for my first wipe. As I was shut in the metal cylinder, barely able to see out of the little clear square due to my short stature and into the face of the current leader, I remembered feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. Being frozen was terrible, agonizing, and seemingly endless, but I had already associated freedom with the cold air chilling every inch of my body, the sting of snow on my bare feet, and during my time frozen I could pretend I was free.

Then what seemed like only a blink later I was looking back out of the clear square, freezing down to my soul, and staring into the face of the same leader though it looked years older than when I had seen it just a moment before. Then after that I was wiped for the first time, erasing all memories of my weeks spend isolated in My Room, forgetting the insanity that had gripped me and for the first time in too long not hearing any voices on the edge of my mind.

It wasn't until many, many years later that I remembered what had happened those weeks before my first freeze, and remembered why being frozen was always my favorite part of my time in captivity.

[o]

So yeah, got rid of a lot of glossed over material and focused instead on a more specific bit of time. Everything I removed comes up in at least one other chapter (at the moment, we'll see after I get through those) so I'm content with how this turned out. Ah, it's nice to be able to read No One again.

Keep staying safe guys, take my brother's advice and don't get corona.


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